


genesis

by PsychicBananaSplit



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Because Julian, Drunken Flirting, Flirting, Fluff, Ghosts, Goats, Human Disaster Julian Devorak, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Kinda, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Magic, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Male Pronouns for Asra (The Arcana), Multi, Past Asra/Julian Devorak, Past Relationship(s), Royalty, Sweet Asra (The Arcana), Tarot, Witchcraft, Witches, as a witch this is totally inaccurate, because lucio, but idc, but this cures corona boredom, good shit, i'm not that far yet, it's good, route spoilers in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicBananaSplit/pseuds/PsychicBananaSplit
Summary: Asra looks away. "I..." He looks down at his cup, squeezing it tighter until his knuckles become white, and then lets go. "I truly don't know, Kinsley." There's something strange in his gaze, faraway and distant. Detached.And that's when Kinsley realizes- that's the first time Asra's lied to him. It's almost unreal to think about, but when it tumbles through his mind a bit, it makes sense.He looks out over the horizon. The sun is rising, washing the desert landscape in bloody light.The tables are turning.(in which i'm bad at writing summaries, and coming up with original content, so i'm doing this.)
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	1. The Magician

**Author's Note:**

> ok so the title and the summary are both in progress so imma update them as i go along  
> also, imma update this as i go along in this game  
> i was apprehensive at first but then i gave in and got the damn game and now i'm addicted, haha, ye

The evening fog is thick, blanketing the city streets of Vesuvia in an ominous, but ethereal glow. Kinsley lingers by the window to appreciate the tranquil beauty before drawing the curtains shut and turning to his mentor, Asra. Kinsley doesn’t know much about his past, if anything at all, but he has taught him everything he knows about magic up to this point. He’s more than a mentor- a friend, perhaps. As close as family.

Asra stands still, tugging at the strap of his satchel. “I’ll miss you.”

Kinsley leans by the doorframe. “Must you leave tonight?”

“It’s the dead of a moonless night.” He turns his head towards an uncovered window. “The right time for beginning a journey.” His eyes twinkle in the low lamplight, and he opens his bag to pull something out. 

“Here- take this. While I’m gone.”

A gift? Strange. Kinsley undoes the buttons clasping the dark leather case together to reveal-

“My tarot deck,” Asra clarifies. 

This deck is one of Asra’s own creations, imbued with great power. It’s the last thing Kinsley expected him to give. 

He looks up with a questioning gaze. “You think I’m ready?”

Asra sighs lightly, shaking his head. “You know I can’t answer that for you. You’ve made,  _ incredible  _ progress, but you won’t let go of your doubt.” He meets his eyes once again. “Do  _ you  _ think you’re ready?”

Kinsley shakes his head slightly and breathes out a laugh. “Why don’t we ask the cards?”

Asra shrugs. “Why not?”

They both retreat to a different room, moonlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains, illuminating the patterns on the tablecloth. Asra sits at the table and folds his hands together. “It’s been a while since we practiced.”

Kinsley sits across from him and starts shuffling the cards. “Because I’ve perfected it?”

One of Asra’s eyebrows lifts up. “Have you, now? You really are gifted. I shouldn’t have expected any less.” His hands slide from the tabletop to his lap. “Well, then, let’s see that perfect technique, hm?”

Kinsley laughs. He’s always going on about how powerful and gifted he is- his confidence is heartening, but Kinsley really doesn’t know where it comes from. 

Something brushes along his leg, smooth and cool. “Oh?” Asra reaches under the table and holds out his hand as a long, purple serpent winds her way up his arm and around his shoulders. Faust, Asra’s familiar, flicks her tongue at Kinsley before getting fully settled.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” he runs a finger along Faust’s head and turns back to the other. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Kinsley shuffles the deck once more and divides it into three, drawing a card from each pile and placing it before him. Asra’s eyes follow his movement. He turns the first card over-

“The High Priestess.”

Asra leans forward. “And what is she telling you? Is she speaking to you now?”

The answer comes to him in an instant. “You’ve forsaken her.”

Asra’s eyes widen a fraction. “I have?”

Kinsley nods. “Yes. You’ve pushed her away and buried her voice.”

Asra frowns, but says nothing.

“She calls out, but you won’t listen.” Kinsley blinks. “Master, if you ignore her…”

A sharp knocking comes to the door, startling the three gathered from their concentrated focus. It’s,  _ strange,  _ at the least, to have a customer at this hour. 

“Did we forget to put the lantern out again?” Asra sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Just as well. I’ve overstayed far too long.” He starts to gather his things to leave, and Kinsley starts to wonder;  _ where is he going this time? What will he bring back with him? _

Asra rights himself back to a stance and nods. Faust curls around his arm. “Well then… take care of yourself, Kinsley.” He looks as if he still has something to say, but he won’t say it. “Until we meet again.”

He soundlessly slips out the back door, the curtains rustling in his wake. Kinsley stares at them before the mystery visitor knocks again, impatiently, this time. Kinsley opens the door. The figure steps inside and starts to unwind the shawl from their neck.

“Forgive me for the hour,” they say, “but I will not suffer another sleepless night.” 

The shawl slips away to reveal the visitor’s face- at the sight of her, Kinsley’s heart leaps into his throat.

The Countess Nadia!

The Countess broadens her shoulders and meets his eyes. “You must read the cards for me.”

“You’ve come to the right place!” Kinsley says. The Countess relaxes slightly, sweeping her gaze over the shop before she looks back at him.

“So I’m told. Your reputation precedes you. Beggars and nobles alike… the people of this city whisper your name in wonder.” She tilts her head, as if questioning something. “Though in my dream, you were… different.” She shakes her head. “No matter. I come with a proposal.”

Kinsley furrowed his eyebrows. “Dream?”

The Countess’s demeanor grows burdensome. “Yes. An unwelcome ability I have come to possess. My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold. But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you… is one I will not allow to pass.”

Kinsley nods and shuffles on his feet. “What’s this proposal?”

She smiles, a tiny pull at her lips. “Are you nervous, perhaps? You needn’t be. I require very little of you. Come to the Palace and be my guest for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course.” Her chin shifts upwards, ever so slightly. “I ask only that you bring your skill… and the arcana.”

_ The arcana… she must be talking about Asra’s tarot deck.  _ Kinsley nods again in understanding.

“I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow. But, before that…” her piercing ruby eyes meet his own again. “I want to see these talents of yours for myself. Shall we do a reading?”

Kinsley ushers her into the backroom, the curtains seeming to shiver in anticipation themselves. The Countess seats herself across from him, her gaze darting every which way in the small space before landing on the deck of cards. She closes her eyes and folds her hands before her as he shuffles the deck.

Kinsley turns the first card. “...The Magician.” 

She peers down at the card, studying its face. “How very appropriate.” The Countess looks back up. “And what does the Magician hold for me?”

Kinsley hums before answering. “You have a plan. One that’s important to you.”

“And? Should I set it in motion?”

Her eyes flash brilliantly in the lamplight, as sharp as daggers.

“Yes. Now is the time to act. Everything has fallen into place.”

The Countess abruptly stands, glancing at the card once more. “Say no more.” She throws open the curtains and strides back into the shop’s front proudly. “Your fortunes are straightforward. Much the same as the others I’ve heard. And yet... “ she pauses, searching. “You are the first to pique my interest.”

She winds the shawl back around her face, crossing to the front door. Kinsley almost trips over his feet in his haste to open the door for her- the Countess has an amused look on her face. “I will see you tomorrow, then, at the Palace. Pleasant dreams.”

And with that, she glides past Kinsley and into the night. For a moment, he’s frozen, staring at her vanished figure before closing the door.  _ What could the Countess of Vesuvia want with me, a mere apprentice?  _ All that talk about his reputation, Kinsley begins to wonder if she mistook him for his mentor.

He’s deep in thought when a harsh, gravelly voice is audible.  _ “Strange hours for a shop to keep.” _

Kinsley whips his head around, chasing the shadows perched in the dark.

_ “Behind you.” _

He turns swiftly to see an equally looming figure in front of the door. The figure seems to be looking around. “So.. this is the witch’s lair.” They zero in on Kinsley. “Then who might  _ you  _ be?” There are faint hints of an accent, and Kinsley tries to catch onto them before the masked intruder advances and all thought is gone from his mind, replaced by terror.

“W-Wh-Who’s asking?”

The intruder pauses before responding. “I’m asking. And I’d rather not do it again.” Kinsley winces from the squeal of leather against leather as the stranger takes their mask off and tosses it to the floor. They look back. “As I suspected.  _ Shock. Horror.  _ You know who I am, don’t you?”

Though there’s no recollection of a name, his face  _ does  _ seem familiar-

Kinsley’s seen it on wanted posters throughout the city.

The stranger paces around impatiently, almost frantically. “No matter now-  _ where is the witch?” _

Kinsley takes a deep breath, regaining what little composure he has left. “Master Asra is gone. I don’t know where, he never tells me.”

Their eyebrows raise to their forehead. “‘Master, is it?” They clear their throat. “Ahem. I won’t pry into your personal affairs.” Kinsley bit his tongue back from a snappish remark. “But if you don’t know, and I don’t know… why don’t we ask your, magic cards?”

_ What _

“That is what the room in the back is for, yeah?”

Kinsley hesitantly nods, unsure of the motives behind this.. odd request.

They gesture to the room. “After you, then.”

Kinsley warily sits down as the stranger drops himself into the other chair, making himself comfortable and draping his lanky form over it like a quilt. “Go on. Don’t be shy.” They offer a wolfish grin, their eye glinting in the light along with their pristine teeth. 

He clears his throat. “I, I don’t know your name.”

The stranger’s face drops into surprise. “My name?”

“For your reading. I need to know your name.”

The slight tint of a blush creeps up to their face. “Oh. Right. Yes, of course… you can call me Julian.” 

Kinsley, again, shuffles the cards and cuts the deck in three, flipping the first card over. “Death.”

Julian’s eye narrows.  _ “Death?”  _ He barks with uncontrollable laughter and turns to the ceiling. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like  _ me.” _

He stands up and strides to the door, whipping the curtains open as he walks. Kinsley stumbles to go on after him. “Wait! That’s not what Death means. It’s-”

Julian interrupts with a heartfelt sigh. “No, no, my fate is sealed. But you’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leans in close to Kinsley’s ear- close enough to feel his breath rustling his hair. “Your witch friend will be back. He’s taught you his tricks. You may even say that he cares for you.” 

He takes the mask from the ground and stares into its glassy red lenses. “But when he returns… seek me out, for your own sake. Don’t let him fool you, shopkeep.” Julian gives him a long, hard look before fixing his mask back into place. “Well then, the hour is late, and I’m out of time.”

With a swirl of his great black cape, he swings the door open and disappears into the early morning fog, wisps catching at his ankles and following his trail.


	2. The High Priestess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while because procrastination~~~ yey  
> also i just really started asra's route and got sidetracked from writing the first few chaps

Kinsley has seen some things. You know, as a magician’s apprentice and all.

But what had happened that night was the strangest, yet. 

He yawns, suddenly feeling as tired as he was. Rubbing at his temples, he gathers enough strength to start trudging up the stairs, collapsing into his lumpy mattress and slipping away into unconsciousness, losing himself in a dream.

The first thing he registers is the sky- a thin, green line against the endless horizon. Asra sat beside him, riding on the back of some strange, unknown beast. Dark clouds bear down on the rolling hills of rust-colored sand, and a road of perfect, smooth black stone is laid out before them.

“Master, where are we?”

Asra doesn’t look at him directly. “Far enough from home. I think.”

“Far enough… for what?” Kinsley watches Asra adjust the scarf wrapped tight around his neck, covering his mouth.

“For answers. For clarity. And I need them soon.” He eyes at the sky. “A storm is coming.” He turns his gaze back into the distance, his voice dimming to a wistful whisper.

Kinsley tries to see just how far the road goes, where it leads to, but it keeps changing.

Asra closes his eyes. “Soon there will be a crossroads.”

“How soon? Where do they lead?”

“Depends on which one you take.” He reaches for Kinsley’s own hand, but falls short.

The waves of the sand rise around the two, carried by a cold wind, covering the sky. Kinsley shields his eyes away from the grit, trying to reach through the sandy mist. The wind is almost deafening. It gets darker, and darker still-

_ “For now, Kinsley… rest.”  _

He was awoken from the light streaming in through the dusty windows, glinting off of the knickknacks carelessly strewn about the room. In the early morning sun, it seems almost magical in and of itself. Perhaps it is.

Kinsley spends most of the first hours of the day preparing for his leave, casting protection in the dark corners. He makes haste- he needs to meet the Countess at the Palace, sooner rather than later.

He throws on a travelling cloak as he hurries outside, the door shutting with a thud behind him. He turns the first lock, and thinking of the previous night, turns the second and the third. With a palm pressed firmly to the wood, he mutters a cross-me-not spell.

As soon as he’s finished, he freezes, the hair at the nape of his neck rising. Kinsley tenses as he sees something out of his peripheral; a shadow, looming right beside him in the alley. It almost seems too large to be human. As the shape fades more into focus, he sees the scars scored into their skin. Jagged and uneven. Smooth, clean, some deeper than others. 

It’s hard to make their face out, but Kinsley knows that they’re watching him.

Kinsley takes a wary step forward, carefully eyeing the figure. Their stormy green eyes follow him as well, but they make no move to stop him. Their voice rumbles out from under their robes, almost thunderous.

_ “You are in grave danger.” _

Kinsley stops as the earthy scent of myrrh washes over him, and looks directly at the figure in apt attention.

_ “He will return, uninvited. He will offer you a gift, when you need it most…”  _ their eyes narrow with scrutiny, and Kinsley almost shivers.  _ “Turn it away. Or you will fall into his hand. Just like the rest of us.”  _

He blinks as the figure shuffles away, the sounds of rustling rough cloth and chains louder in the near silence.

And then, they’re gone.

Kinsley glances up and down the alley, shaking his head.  _ Wasn’t there someone else here, just now? _

He shakes off the thought and keeps walking. The Countess is expecting him, he doesn’t have time to dawdle. He leaves the narrow, mossy cobblestone and the fog behind.

It’s early in the morning, but the marketplace is already as alive and bustling as ever. Kinsley is instantly surrounded in the sounds of laughter and casual conversation, vendors hawking their businesses and offers. One voice is easy to pick out from the crowd, though.

“Kinsley!” A friendly baker who Kinsley and Asra, both, know well calls to him. “Have you eaten? I’ve got that pumpkin loaf you like in the oven. Won’t be long before it’s finished.” He wipes down the counter in front of him. “Come, sit down, talk for a while!”

Kinsley’s stomach twists with hunger from the smell of baked goods, but he hesitates.  _ I really should watch the time… _

“Sure, I’ve got some time,” he says. The baker smiles and leads him to the booth. Kinsley settles against the wall as the baker offers him a steaming cup.

“And where’s Asra?” He asks. “Sleeping in?”

Kinsley takes a sip of the hot, minty drink and shakes his head. “He’s on a journey.”

The baker nods. “Ah, and where’s he off to this time?” He busies himself with sweeping the floors. Kinsley shrugs, and he gives him an odd look. “He didn’t tell you?”

Kinsley watches the steam from his drink twist itself into the air. “He was acting… strange.”

“So he’s off on some mysterious journey. That’s nothing new.” He leans forward in interest. “But what of  _ your  _ mysterious journey, if I may ask?”

Kinsley looks up, startled.

“There’ve been whispers all morning, you know! They say the Countess’ escort rode into the neighborhood ‘round dawn.” He smiles wider and leans further, fishing for gossip. 

Kinsley simply shakes his head and finishes his drink. “How’s that bread coming along?”

The baker huffs. “Mysterious as ever, you and Asra both.” He backs away to check the loaf, taking the tin out and wrapping up the bread once it’s cooled. “There; all wrapped up for the road.” 

Kinsley leaves a coin on the counter and hands the empty cup to him, skipping back into the bustle of the market. He waves goodbye to the baker before turning away.

As he’s walking further down the alley, something catches his eye- a fortune teller’s booth, tucked away into a corner. A wave of nostalgia hits him. Asra once ran a place just like it. 

Just as he’s lost in thought, a customer emerges from the booth. He doesn’t notice them backing into him until they crash into each other.

They make a surprised sound, and Kinsley stumbles backwards, teetering on the edge of a step. 

The impact seemed to have upset the basket balanced on the person’s hip, which sends a dozen pomegranates rolling down the stairs.

They sigh indignantly. “Oh, perfect! As if I wasn’t already late.” 

Kinsley crouches down to lend a hand, snatching a pomegranate from under an oncoming horse and returning it to the stranger. Their eyes sparkle with delight.

“Ooh, thank you! How sweet of you to help.” They pick the basket up, an embarassed blush creeping to their cheeks. “And after I bumped into you in the first place.”

They both gather the rest of the fruit, a little bruised, but otherwise fine.

The stranger faces Kinsley. “Well, I can’t thank you enough!” They offer a calloused hand, that Kinsley takes and stands up. “You know, I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but..” they grab one of the pomegranates and, rubbing it on their sleeve, offers him it. Kinsley accepts it, and they smile warmly.

“Take care, alright? I’ll see you around-” they take a closer look at him, and their eyes widen. “Wait. Wait, I know you!”

“Er…” Kinsley scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, at a loss. He has no recollection of who they are.

“You’re Kinsley, the magician. Countess Nadia said we were expecting you.”

_ We? _

“You can call me Portia. I’m milady’s head servant.” 

All the pieces click in his head. The pomegranates were for the Palace- and Portia’s name rings a bell. With all the gossip, it’s hard not to hear of everybody.

Portia adjusts the basket at her hip. “Well, how lucky are we? Come on,” she waves a hand and starts forward. “I’ll show you the quickest path to the palace.”

Kinsley stumbles to catch up.

Kinsley keeps watch on the sinking sun as they climb the seemingly infinite staircase. As they go on further, there are fewer travelers that they come across. Portia stops a moment to let him catch his breath, far more alive than him.

“Kinsley.. I’m glad you’re here. The Countess could use good help.” Her face brightens. “And you look like a good sort to me.”

He smiles, and when he’s finally caught his breath, they keep moving.

When they reach the Palace, is near dark. The light’s faded to a orange-pink, set low in the sky. Kinsley thinks the lightling serves the Palace well, glittering spires swirling into the purple skyline. 

They approach a gate of twisted iron, two guards standing to the sides, their eyes glinting beneath their helmets. They seem wary of Kinsley, but they lower their weapons when they see Portia.

“Ludovico, Bludmila, this is Kinsley. He’ll be staying as our guest.” She turns back to him and gestures to the guards. “Kinsley, Ludovico and Bludmila.” They nod at him and relax their stiff posture, and, in unison, push open the heavy iron gate.

Portia waits. “After you, Kinsley.”

The gates slam shut behind them as Portia leads him across a long, steep bridge. Kinsley glances down into the waters below to catch a glimpse of some kind of eel, swirling around like a bloodless ghost. Portia tugs on his arm, leading him away from the edge of the bridge.

“Come on,” she says, “We don’t want to keep milady waiting.”

Kinsley’s stomach is bubbling with anxiety as they approach the intricately detailed doors, his feet feel like they’re moving on their own accord. 

“Here we are!”


	3. The Empress

Portia swings her fist against the copper plating, knocking on the doors with three skull-rattling strikes. As the last knock’s echo fades, they swing inward, and Kinsley gapes in awe.

Inside the palace, the floors, walls, and high ceiling are all clean-cut and polished stone, gleaming with the light from the hanging lanterns above them. It’s all warm-colored, rose-golds and pale yellows. A servant with a blue feathered cap runs up to them.

They give a deep bow to Kinsley, then dash to Portia’s side.

“Chamberlain,” she nods her head towards the servant politely. “How are we doing on time?”

“Terribly late!” They seem nervous, wringing their hands, eyes darting to every which way, “The fifth course is over! Her ladyship is in a most unhappy state!”

Portia bites her lip, her face paling slightly as she hands the fruit basket to them. “Have the sommelier fetch a bottle of the Golden Goose.”

The servant nods and hastily jogs off, disappearing behind a panel in a wall that slides shut seamlessly, barely even there.

“Too bad.” Portia starts to lead Kinsley further into the palace. “I’ll escort you directly to the dining room.”

Kinsley feels the blood drain from his face.  _ Was I supposed to dine with the Countess?  _ Portia must notice a change in his look, because she laughs and says, “What? Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!”

Before long, they’re standing before a fine mahogany door- Portia opens it and leads him inside.

The dining room is dimly lit with the last embers of burnt-down candles, and rich scents linger in the air from what Kinsley assumes was dinner. In the center of it all, sitting at the furthest end of the table, is the Countess Nadia.

She smiles tersely, folding her hands together. “Ah, Kinsley. Welcome to the Palace.” She gestures to the chair to her right. “Have a seat.” She averts her gaze, almost secondary embarrassment. “You’re too late for dinner, I’m afraid.”

Portia leads him to his seat as the Countess takes a sip from her glass. Another servant removes what might have been his plate away from in front of him.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten my invitation.” She smiles at him again, teasing this time. “But… perhaps you are unaccustomed to travel? You look exhausted. Why, I can see your cheeks gleaming from here.” She downs her glass, and Portia appears at her side with a bottle enrobed in shimmering foil. The Countess watches her pour into her empty glass. “Ah, Portia. How thoughtful of you.”

“My pleasure, milady,” Portia says lightly, filling Kinsley’s glass as well before taking a stand off to the wall.

The Countess takes a sip. “A Golden Goose? A marvelous choice, Portia.”

Kinsley reaches for his own glass to extinguish the awkward moment, but stops, suddenly transfixed by the strange painting before him. The scene is that of a feast, shared among a host of figures with the heads of animals. On the table are smaller creatures, and, in the center, a character with the head of a goat. Rays of gold shine from behind its head, imitating sunlight, and its red eyes are strikingly lifelike.

The Countess tilts her head back. “Do you like it, Kinsley? The painting.”

Though there is a rather… sinister feel to it, Kinsley says yes. The glittering red eyes shoot through him like bullets. The Countess eyes him carefully and hums.

“Fascinating. Perhaps you share my husband’s… unusual tastes.”

Nadia’s husband, Count Lucio. Or, rather, the  _ late  _ Count Lucio. 

The Countess stares at the painting with Kinsley. “He’s the goat in the middle, of course. Ever the provider.” She grimaces. “Lucio had the populace eating out of the palm of his hand. Much like the painting, I suppose. Whatever he offered, the people gobbled it up. They worshipped him.

“My husband was particulary loved for his yearly masquerade.” She sets her glass down and folds her hands, resting her chin upon them. “Did you ever attend, Kinsley? The whole city came alive for the Masquerade. Revelry took hold of hearts young and old. All in celebration of Lucio’s birthday. And what a celebration, when he opened the palace gates to all.” The Countess sighs. “Such a fond memory for many, and now it is shrouded in sorrow. A terrible shock to the guests.. to find their host murdered so violently at the last Masquerade.”

Kinsley notices the servants lowering their eyes, and averts his own gaze back to the painting. There’s an eerie stillness in the air, as if the absence of words called for petrification. 

“My poor husband, burned alive in his own bed. And at the celebration of his birthday. What did he do to invite such hatred?” The Countess takes a moment to breathe, and carries on. “After such a shocking scene… guests to the Palace have been scarce.”

He turns away from the portrait just in time to meet the her keen gaze. A candle shivers and dies out from the corner of his vision. “But now that you are here…”

The Countess stops, almost lost in thought - she had said that with such confidence, but it doesn’t stop Kinsley from wondering. “Countess, what does any of this have to do with me?”

Her eyes sharpen instantly. “Kinsley, the Masquerade is  _ precisely  _ why I called you here. This year, I intend to hold the Masquerade once more.”

Portia whips her head up to stare at the Countess, and so do the other servants in the room. Thoughts swirl around in his head. What does she mean, holding an event, a reminder of Count Lucio’s death? Open to the people? 

“The festivities in Lucio’s honor will be more fanatical-” she stumbles over her words, “excuse me, fantastical than ever. There is but one loose end in need of tying - Count Lucio’s murderer still roams free, to this day.” A darkness flooded into her eyes, and her fingers tightened around each other slightly. “Doctor Julian Devorak, my husband’s former physician.”

A chill settles over Kinsley, and he’s suddenly very still, as if he was petrified himself. He remembers the name with the wanted posters, the name with the face of the man who had broken into his shop the previous night.

The Countess shook him out of his thoughts. “Doctor Devorak confessed to the crime when we caught him. All that is left is his sentence. Execution,” she paused, “by hanging.”

There’s a sudden and terrible crash from the corner of the room. Kinsley turns to Portia, whose face is stricken with horror, and then looks down at the broken remnants of the Golden Goose seeping into the marble floors.

“Portia?” The Countess asks, concered, maybe a little surprised.

“F-forgive me, milady,” Portia responds, more than a little shaken, “slippery hands.”

The Countess nods. “You are forgiven.”

Two servants rush over to her aid, sweeping the shattered mess with practiced speed. The Countess continues as if nothing ever happened. “This is where you come in, Kinsley. Doctor Devorak has been very elusive. But you have quite the reputation; rumor has it that you have surpassed even your Master Asra. I, myself, see the future, in dreams, whether I like it or not. And this is how I know that you are the one who will find Doctor Devorak.”

Kinsley thinks. “And… if we find him?”

The Countess takes a sip from her glass and sets it back down.  _ “When  _ we find him,” she corrects, “we will bring him before the people so that all may see his long-waited punishment. And so, to commence the festivities… the doctor will die on the gallows for his terrible crime.”

The Countess rises from her seat - on instinct, Kinsley does as well. 

“Portia.”

There comes a long pause.

“...Portia.”

“Yes, milady!” 

She smiles. “Show Kinsley to the guest quarters. I imagine there is much to ponder before the night is out.”

Portia nods. “Right away, milady.” She takes his hand and, with a humble bow, whisks him out into the hall. She’s quiet as she escorts Kinsley to his room, and the footsteps are almost too much to bear. They take a few turns before they pass a wide staircase, veiled in shadow. A draft from the floor above prickles his skin, and the smell of ash comes with it.

Curled together on the bottome step are two large, lanky dogs. They both rise without a sound at the sight of Kinsley. Though they look like they could strike unpredictably, he doesn’t sense anything dangerous. He holds out his hand, and the dogs approach to sniff it. Their tails start wagging.

Portia stops to look. “Well, this is bizarre. They never take kindly to strangers.” Kinsley sends a questioning gaze to her, and she shrugs. “It’s just how they were trained, but… I’ve never seen them act like this.”

The dogs become even more curious, brushing up against his sides as they investigate. They draw back, satisfied, looking up at him expectantly. On a whim, Kinsley reaches out to run his hand over the smaller one’s silky coat-

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”

The dog rears back - from his hand or Portia’s panicked tone, he’s not completely sure. Portia runs a hand through her hair at the nape of her neck. “Sorry. They’re a little unpredictable. They seem to like you, but I’d rather you keep that hand.”

The hounds trot back to their spot, nearly blending into the marble.

“Oh, no wonder they’re like this, they haven’t had their chamomile cakes!” Portia looks nervously from Kinsley to the dogs, still as statues. “Wait here, Kinsley. And it’s probably best to keep your distance away from them. I’ll be right back with those cakes.” She swoops through another sliding panel in the wall, and Kinsley’s left alone in the hallway with the dogs.

One comes closer to sniff Kinsley’s side insistently. When he looks down, it simply backs off and stares. Then the smaller of the two is sniffing at his other side, and he whirls around - and it sits back on its haunches, watching him innocently.

He’s staring deepy into its one sanguine eye as an unsettling sensation ripples through him like a wave of intense fever. A voice calls down from the floor above.  _ “A guest?” _

Kinsley darts back, staring up and down the corridor, and then to the staircase. He can’t see that far up into the dusty gloom. 

There’s no one there.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a tugging at the bottom of his cloak, and then a sharp yank that sends him stumbling off towards the stairs.  _ The dogs -  _ they bury their teeth into his clothes, close enough to where he can feel the heat from their breath underneath his garments. They start to drag him up to the upper floor. Kinsley trips on the first steps, and their tails start wagging.

_ “Hey!”  _ Kinsley yelps, startled. He tries to pull himself free, but the dogs tug at him stubbornly. They only let him go when they’ve reached their destination; the top of the stairs.

The floor is frigid stone, numbing his hands. He can see his breath in the cold air, and he smells ash and dust. His head is spinning. His heart hammers in his chest and his hands are shaking as he summons a weak glimmer of light in his palms, looking around for the dogs, which are now nowhere to be seen.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, partially open, exposing a deeper darkness that swallow the feeble rays of light.

Kinsley finds his footing and stumbles, dizzy and disoriented, and the chill settles further into his lungs. He glances down the stairs, the warm light fading away, and then back at the ominously tall door. He shivers.

His footsteps echo uncomfortably in the empty stone corridor. The door creaks when he nudges it open - the magic in his palm shrinks to a fluttering glow when he steps into the room. It’s warmer than the hall, and the oddly thick air has a strong, peppery taste.

The floorboards shift as he explores - the curtains are torn, and the window is open, the midnight breeze creeping in. A marble writing desk, organized, an unfinished letter in the center. The writing is unintelligable from the bottle of spilled ink, long since dried. The peacock feather pen sits in its stand, untouched. In the center of it all, a heavily canopied bed stretches across the room.

Everything is covered in powdery, gray ash.

The light flickers when his passes over a portrait on the wall, twice Kinsley’s height. He holds his hand up, the dim glow stretching over the canvas. It’s hard to see, but it’s clear enough to tell who was painted - Count Lucio.

He looks younger than Kinsley had expected, or maybe the portrait is old. Or perhaps the artist was catering to his vanity. His coat is the same cardinal hue from the painting in the dining room. The golden arm almost shimmers, as if it was the real thing. A marvel of alchemical art. 

He just plainly stares at it.

_ “Go on,”  _ the voice whispers,  _ “touch it.” _

A miasma of thick, scorching air forces his hand toward the painting, but he feels only what he thought he would feel - ash and canvas. A snickering grows louder in his head, as a haze settles over his mind, almost like a trance. Almost like he’s not in his body.

_ “Nothing like the real thing… seeing, unable to feel. Such sweet torture…” _

Kinsley feels a warmth, like a growing ember radiating at the back of his neck - and his magic reacts, the glow strengthening and stretching past his fingers and down his wrist.

It all happened in a flash.

The voice fades away with a sigh, fading into wistfulness, and the strange sensations subside.  _ “There, in your energy… ohh, it’s him. Could you be…?” _

The haze vanishes, and Kinsley reels away from the portrait. The mattress of the bed comes into contact with the back of his knees and he falls down into it, a great cloud of ash billowing around him as soon as he hits the bedcovers. His neck jerks.  _ This is Count Lucio’s bed… right where he was burned. _

_ Incinerated. _

Kinsley almost gags as he realizes the fine ash caught in his eyelashes, his nose and his mouth and all over him - it’s what’s left of the Count. He claps a hand over his mouth, stifling his own scream, struggling to stand.

_ “Going so soon?”  _ The voice hisses, louder and all encompassing.  _ “You’re no fun.” _

Kinsley finds his footing and circles around. “Who are you?”

The temperature drops instantaneously, his hurried breaths turn into a fine mist in front of him. There’s a shifting in the bed, in the ashes, and he hears a weak cry,  _ nothing  _ like a human would make.

_ “Nobody… nobody at all…” _

An unseen breeze whips past him and towards the portrait.  _ “Now, this specimen of a man…  _ he  _ was somebody.” _

The voice trails off into nothingness, and the temperature evens out. Kinsley’s light jumps back into his palm. The room…  _ feels  _ normal, once again. 

He almost trips over the rug as he breaks into a run out the door and into the hall, searching in the vague darkness for the familiar warm light downstairs. The paintings on the walls, imitations of the one in the room, stare him down with cold, aristocratic eyes. The voice echoes behind him,  _ “Come back… come back…” _

Against his better judgement, Kinsley turns - and sees a dark sihouette, stark against a wall of high, frosted windows. He makes out the shape of claws, hooves and horns - and the white face of a goat is visible, red eyes fixed gleefully on  _ him. _

Kinsley blinks, and it’s gone. He hears clambering footsteps, the creak of a door, and then…

_ silence.  _

By the time he makes his way back down the stairs, Portia is looking around the corners for him, puzzled until she notices. “There you are!”

She stares at the fine, powdery ash covering him from head to toe. “What… why are you covered in,  _ ash?  _ What did those naughty dogs do?” She pulls a plain white hankercheif from her pocket and hands it to him. All he can muster is a dazed nod of thanks as he dusts himself off. His mind is still fogged, struggling to make sense of the shadows he saw, what he  _ heard.. _

Portia helps him gently brush off the last of the ash and takes his hand. “You know, I’m just gonna leave these cakes right here. Let’s get you to bed.”

Kinsley is silently thankful as he follows at Portia’s heels, arriving at the guest room quickly. She swings open the door with a sweeping gesture. “These will be your quarters, Kinsley. You can put your things wherever you like. Breakfast is at sunrise… I’ll wake you.”

His fatigue must be showing. He lets his bag fall to the floor and turns to Portia, smiling tiredly. She smiles back sympathetically. “You look ready to drop. I’ll leave you be. Sleep well, Kinsley.” She gently slides the door shut.

All at once, Kinsley burrows into the luxurious sheets, feeling as though he’s weightless. He feels his eyelids sinking, and he falls into sleep quickly.


	4. The Emperor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these first five chapters are a little boring and repetitive, because they're the prologue to the actual game  
> but imma add my own flare to these soon enough  
> i just wanted to stay pretty close to the original content these first chaps

Kinsley’s back, standing on the black stone path. The wind whips swirls of rust-red sand around his feet. He feels it, this time. But the thick, dark clouds hanging overhead are heavier than before. Suffocating. The overwhelming scent of saltwater washes over him.

_ Where’s Asra? _

The unforgiving wind burns his eyes as he searches the desolate landscape. It almost knocks him off of his feet, but he keeps them planted firmly to the stone. 

He doesn’t need to look for long to see Asra, too far down the path to reach, still riding the lumbering beast. They’ve stopped at a fork in the road - one way leads east, the other west. Asra dismounts the creature, placing a hand on its hide. It turns toward the path to the east while Asra begins the path to the west.

Something in Kinsley jumps, and he knows at once that Asra’s going the wrong way. He yells into the wind, “Not that way! Not again!”

His mentor turns, and even from the vast distance between them, he feels their eyes meet. “...Kinsley?” Asra responds, almost inaudible. His voice carries, just a longing whisper in the wind.

But he turns away and continues down the westward path, fading further and further from sight. 

_ “Asra!”  _ Kinsley calls out to him as the wind picks up and engulfs him in the rust-colored sand, a tornado that sweeps him into waking.

Sunlight tickles at Kinsley’s face, and he opens his eyes with a groan. The royal reds, purples and golds seem to come to life in the sun, but he’s just annoyed by it. Portia is beside his bed, setting down a neatly folded pile of clothes on a footrest. She smiles brightly when she sees that he’s awake. “Morning, Kinsley!”

While he sits up, Portia exits the room momentarily to fetch a tray of pastries. “What a lovely sunrise. Did you sleep well? The Countess wants you to meet her in the library once you’ve eaten and dressed.”

Kinsley unfolds the top garment, toying with the fabric and marveling at the way it moves. His mouth waters from the buttery smell of the breakfast pastries. 

“We took your old clothes to be laundered. Milady asked me to provide these for you.” She retreats back to the door. “I’ll be waiting in the hall, whenever you’re ready.” Portia ducks into the corridor. Kinsley lingers in his bed for a moment before moving the silky clothing aside and tossing back his bedcovers. The pastries are still warm and flaky, each more delicate and whimsical than the last - he eats quickly as to not let the Countess wait longer than she has to. He disrobes right after, fumbling with the clasps and buttons on his new garments.

He spares a moment to look over himself in the mirror; he’s dressed formally, but strangely casual, his overcoat blue and embroidered with silver. The white button-down underneath is clean and crisp, the sleeves are long but loose, breathable, catering to the summer weather. The pants are form-fitting and match with the thigh-high boots, which add a needed two inches to his underwhelming height. 

(Asra is just as tall as him, if not a quarter inch taller. He just likes to tease him.)

Thinking of Asra makes his heart ache, especially when recalling the previous night’s dream. Kinsley shakes his head and opens the door, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt.

Portia turns and grins. “Ooh! Don’t you look nice!” He feels his ears heating up and he scratches his neck self-consciously. “The Countess has a real eye for fashion. She’ll definitely be pleased.”

Portia leads him down the hall to a penel in the wall, three times his height and crafted of smooth honey-colored wood. Carved into it, with dizzying intricacy, is a great tree, inlaid with jewels and pearls.

“It’s milady’s own work. Beautiful, isn’t it?” She takes a ring of keys from her pocket - there are about a dozen, each carved of the same wood as the panel, and each bearing a distinct jewel. One by one, she finds their corresponding locks in the panel and unlocks them. With every unlocked bolt, the roots of the tree unwind from each other, pulling free from the floor, and when all the locks have been turned, the panel folds upon itself on either side like a paper fan.

The first thing Kinsley noticed were the books - there were books everywhere. Winding up the walls and reaching all the way to the ceiling. A great stained-glass window filters colors into the room in sea greens and sky blues. 

The Countess is waiting for them, seated in a reclining chair in the middle of the room. Her eyes glitter with approval when she sees him. “Kinsley. You look positively radiant.” She gestures to the towering shelves surrounding the three of them. “Do you read?”

Kinsley nods. The Countess tempers her surprise. “Ah. Somehow, I suspected that you might. It is a great gift, to read. Where I come from, it is shared amongst all citizens.” She looks out the window, almost saddened. “But woefully uncommon here.” She stands up. “This way, please.” 

She leads him deeper into the shelves. Portia follows close behind with the jingle of her keys.

Kinsley can’t stop staring at the books - all different colors, some probably ancient. His fingers itch to run along their spines, feel the pages, but he resists. The Countess must glance back and notice the longing on his face. “Kinsley… you  _ are  _ my guest. If you should like to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment…” The Countess stops them before an alcove, nestled between the shelves. “...I would have your undivided attention here.”

A desk stands in a slim ray of daylight, cast from a tiny window. Books, journals, papers and scrolls cover every inch of the desk. Despite the clutter, everything is carefully organized. Someone’s place of study, preserved in time. Kinsley tilts his head towards the Countess in question.

“This was Doctor Devorak’s desk. He was employed at the Palace, as was your Master Asra.” She runs a fleeting glance over the desk. “We called upon them to concoct a cure for the plague.”

Kinsley’s blood runs cold.

_ The Red Plague,  _ as it was called, swept through the city like wildfire. It claimed young and old, frail and strong. There was no way to tell who would succumb. Cases are rare, now. He can’t even remember the last time he saw the telltale red in the whites of someone’s eyes.

“Physicians, scientists, alchemists, fortune tellers, magicians… all were invited, in hopes that our resources may aid in their research.”

Kinsley looked over to Portia, who seemed to shrink in the background. Her eyes were wide with anxiety. The Countess closed her eyes. “Perhaps he was plotting even then… but the doctor accepted our invitation. As did your Master Asra.”

She shifts her gaze to the window. It overlooks a large willow tree, which hangs over the fountain in the garden below. “I have had the desk and its contents examined laboriously. Nothing of consequence has been found. But perhaps you will make better use of it. It is the best lead I can offer.” She draws away, passing by him and perfuming the air with jasmine. “The search for Doctor Devorak is now in your hands. You may proceed as you see fit. I ask only that you meet with me for dinner this evening.”

She smiles serenely and sweeps out of the room, Portia following in her wake. Kinsley is left along with the doctor’s desk.

A discarded quill was thrown precariously next to a stack of books. Scrolls are tucked away into drawers, and sketches are posted around the wall as well as carelessly strewn about the surface of the desk. Kinsley takes a leather bound folio and leafs through it, the papers yellowed and fragile with age. A meticulous drawing catches his eye - its neat lines contrast sharply with the doctor’s messy writing. Somehow, Kinsley feels as though the patterns and shapes are very familiar, like he’d seen them before.

As he traces the lines with his finger, the hairs on his arm stand on end, goosebumps forming on his skin. He catches the echo of… desperation. Single-minded purpose, frantic and rushed. It’s a faint trace at best, but it’s a little of what the doctor had been feeling when he made these drawings.

Kinsley rolls the sketch into a tight scroll and stows it in his satchel. These papers… they’re something the doctor had cared about. Something with a connection to him, he’s sure. 

He shoots a glance out the window at the sky. It’s a bit past noon - if he’s quick, he can get back in time for dinner with the Countess.

The sun starts dipping in the sky as he makes his way into the city, the sky dripping from blue to gold to scarlet in the horizon. Kinsley feels his breath grow shorter as tremors of anxiety twist at his gut and spread down to his fingertips. He’s only ever done magic like this with his mentor. 

The thoughts of Asra’s voice soothe his mind -  _ start with your breath. Follow your heart, and be present.  _

He takes a few deep breaths and, finding the calm that he needed, gathers up his magic. He holds the scroll in both of his hands in front of him, and closes his eyes. A tingling sensation grows at the base of his neck. He follows the feeling, away from the palace and through the city streets. He doesn’t need to see to go where he’s going.

The sensation abrupty stops and Kinsley opens his eyes. He ended up in a narrow, slippery street along the south side of Vesuvia. The shabby stones are layered like scales. Clustered apartments line the passage, and murky reddish water churns in the sluggish canal. Lanterns are lit into bright oranges and reds, a serene feel. 

Kinsley jumps back as a door in front of him swings open, casting the warm light down three jagged stone steps.

Julian -  _ Doctor Devorak  _ \- steps out into the street. “Oh, I’ll be back. Just stepping out for some air.”

Kinsley freezes mid-step, his heart leaping into his throat, giddy and anxious. He didn’t expect the spell to work, and he hadn’t thought of what he’d do if it did. He tediously treads back, trying to retreat quietly, but something catches his heel and sends him toppling into an empty barrel. He’s staring up at the sky, flailing about uselessly as quick bootsteps approach.

“Hello,” the doctor says as he comes closer. “That was quite the tumble, there. “Are you alright?” He leans over the barrel, extending a hand. He rears back when he sees Kinsley’s face.

“The… the shopkeep? What are you doing here?” His thick eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he takes both of Kinsley’s wrists into a firm grip and pulls him out of the barrel like a snail plucked from its shell. “Come on, upsy-daisy.”

They stagger into each other, and Kinsley finds himself facing the doctor’s broad, gleaming chest. For a second, Devorak’s eye meets his in surprise at their sudden closeness. He gives a friendly pat on the other’s shoulder and releases him, visibly trying to extinguish the rosy blush dusted around his pale features.

Kinsley takes a good look at his surroundings - the both of them are behind a tavern, well-hidden from the street. Painted on the door is a cackling blackbird, lying back on a crescent moon.  _ The Rowdy Raven,  _ it reads. He looks back to Devorak’s composed face, toned down with masked bewilderment. 

“Dare I ask… what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. How was he even going to begin to explain?

The doctor gives him a knowing look and casts a glance to the open door. Its warm light glows between us. He turns back with a glint in his eye. “Rumor has it you’re working for the Palace.” He crosses his arms defensively. “I’m sure - well, by now - you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

Kinsley nods. The doctor becomes almost cocky, and smirks. “But you haven’t heard my side of the tale, have you?”

That’s true, too. All that he knows is from the Countess’ account, the wanted posters, the muddled rumors.

“Besides, I do still owe you for the reading.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you thirsty? My treat.”

Kinsley shrugs. “Sure, why not?” The doctor’s face splits into a brilliant grin, different from the wolfish one in the shop. This one was friendly.

“Oh, fantastic. Please, follow me.”

He beckons the apprentice up the steps to the door, easing it open and leading him through to the warmth inside. It’s not even sundown, but the tavern is in full swing. The noise of music and chaotic chatter is cacophonous. The barkeep, wide, scar-faced and barrel-armed, gives the doctor a cheeky salute when they pass by. A cackling drunkard swings out a wooden leg, which Devorak politely pushes aside. He guides Kinsley to a cozy booth in the back, a candle with a dangerously untrimmed wick flickering violently. He grins. “You make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Devorak breezes past him towards the bar. Kinsley tries to sit still as he looks around. Nearby, a pair of old crones are hunched over a card game, attended by a squabbling crowd. Up at the bar, the doctor chats with the barkeep. They both erupt into peals of laughter at some joke. He looks perfectly at ease, so different from when they had met at the shop..

He turns, making his way back with their drinks. Devorak slides into the booth across from him and sets their drinks down, gulping down his own with gusto. Kinsley peers into the golden liquid, smelling faintly of fruit.

Frowning, he snatches the drink from the doctor’s spidery fingers and swaps it with the other. He blinks, as though he can’t tell whether he’d imagined it or not. Kinsley holds his gaze as he finishes the drink, holding in his grimace. He’s not a big drinker.

The doctor smirks. “Very smart. Never trust a free drink.” His fingers interlocking on the table between them, he gives the magician a coy look, making heat flare under his cheeks. “You know, I never did get your name.”

He licks his lips and hesitates. “...Kinsley. Kinsley Whinn.”

“Ahh, Kinsley, now  _ that  _ is a name. Such strength, such presence,” the doctor pauses and sends a wink to him, “a royal name.”

He offers a hand and Kinsley takes it, not to be intimidated by his leathery grip. The admiration in Devorak’s gaze triggers a tremor of fluttering pride in his chest, and he’s not quite sure why. He clears his throat and looks him dead in the eye. 

“You said you’d tell me your side of the story.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? How careless of me.” He laughs at the incredulous expression painted on Kinsley’s face, then he leans back in the booth, long limbs going every which way. “All right, ask anything you like.”

Silently, Kinsley reaches into his bag and hands him the scroll from the library. Once the doctor starts reading, the smile slides from his face. He leans over the page, frowning in concentration. Kinsley does as well, drawn in by the winding, map-like patterns, only looking away when he feels Devorak’s single gray eye staring him down. 

“Where did you find this?”

“It was on your desk. In the palace library.”

He looks away, but not before a visible flinch of pain crosses his face. “Oh, well, this is a slice of… ah… of a human brain. The patterns are unique, actually, to each individual.”

“Individual?”

Their gazes meet, and the doctor stiffens with trepidation. “You mean to say,” Kinsley asks, “...you’ve seen individual brains sliced like this?”

Julian steeples his fingers and rests his chin on his thumbs, his expression ghastly. “There are other drawings, aren’t there? At the palace?”

Kinsley nods. The doctor drums his fingers on his clenched jaw, in clear distress.

“Well, you’d better put this one back. Trust me, they’ll notice it’s gone.” As if he can’t stand to look at it a moment longer, Julian rolls it up and hands it to Kinsley. He takes the scroll and slides it back into his bag. It feels heavier now, as if the page itself took on the weight of the doctor’s ominous words.

“Excuse me,” he says. Whisking the steins away, Julian heads back to the bar. Shrill bickering erupts from the card-playing crones’ table. He whispers to one of the crones as he passes by, and taps a single card in her hand. The card is played, throwing the crowd into chaos. Julian ducks away just as someone douses him with their drink. He’s still wiping it off, chuckling when he returns to his seat. 

“You would think I’d know better than to get involved.” Kinsley raises an eyebrow. Julian’s not wearing a mask here, and everyone seems to know him. It’s awfully strange for… a fugitive. A wanted criminal.

“You’re not worried about being seen?”

“Here?” He taps the table with a pointed finger and laughs. “Nooo. No I’m not too worried. Folks around here aren’t known to, uh, to oblige the wants and wishes of the Palace. Even the raven spends his time scouting for guards. Obsessively.” He waves a gloved hand about, imitating the bird, and scans the smoky rafters while Kinsley processes what he had told him. It’s… a little surprising. Where he and Asra live, the guards are treated with reverence. And fear, in no small measure. 

Suddenly the raven bursts in through a dusty window overhead, flying in loops with a gutteral shriek. The bird beats himself against a string of bells, and the tavern erupts into chaos.

“Guards!” The barkeep yells over the noise. “Palace guards!”

Patrons claw their way out every door and window, playing cards tossed aside and fluttering in the air. Julian scoops Kinsley bodily from his seat and rushes out of the back door, into the alley and out of sight. The commotion melts to the backdrop as they run.

It’s getting cold, and the sun’s almost set completely. The doctor casts a frantic glance up and down the alley before crowding them both into the shadows. “You’ll be able to find your way, yeah? The guards aren’t after you…”

Kinsley nods. Julian clasps his upper arms and makes deep eye contact. “Thanks. For not, well… thanks, Kinsley.” He turns and vanishes, leaving the magician all alone in the quiet, shuttered alley. He’s at a loss for what to do next - he thought Julian might offer answers, but all he has is more swirling questions.

_ “Hey! You there!”  _

He whirls around as two armed guards appear at the alley’s enterance. They march towards him, but when they’re close enough to see his face clearly, they stop. “Oh. The Countess’ magician.” The guard gives him a short, sharp bow, then clears his throat. “Ahem. I’m Ludovico. We met yesterday, at the gates.” 

Kinsley nods, straightening his stance and broadening his shoulders, trying to appear more confident than he was. “Yes. I’m supposed to dine with the Countess again tonight. But it’s getting late…”

Ludovico briskly waves off his question. “We’ll hail you a carriage back. Don’t want to keep the Countess waiting.” He leads the magician back to a broader street, hails a gilded carriage, and closes the door behind him.

The palace looms over the carriage as it approaches, a white monolith against the twinkling night sky. Portia’s standing by the gates, waiting and ready to help Kinsley out of the carriage. She’s unusually quiet when she greets him, not at all like her usual cheerful self. He keeps silent as well, occupied by the tangled thoughts crowding his mind.

The grand doors open as they arrive to reveal an extravagant meal, piled high upon the table. Everything is richly seasoned with rare spices. Kinsley recognizes the scent of saffron wafting towards him. 

The Countess is sitting in the same seat as she was the previous night. “You’re right on time, Kinsley. I hope your day was fruitful.” 

As he pulls out a chair, a servant fills his glass with a pale rose beverage. The delicate floral aroma reminds him of the Countess’ perfume.

She takes a sip from her own glass. “First, let us attend to some small matters. My courtiers are most eager to meet you. I shall introduce you to them tomorrow afternoon. They will want to know everything about you, but choose wisely what you wish to tell.” She pauses. “I will be informing them of the Masquerade as well. I imagine they will be ecstatic.”

Kinsley nods slowly as he chews his food. He tries not to show how foreign the ways of the court are to him, but he trusts that the Countess won’t allow him to be an embarassment - to himself or her.

“And tomorrow at noon, Portia will lead a retinue into the town square to announce the Masquerade. Once the townspeople hear, word will spread on its own. And then it shall be out of our hands. I imagine the crowds will be eager to see Count Lucio’s murderer hang.”

He thinks of Julian, bathed in the warm welcoming light of the tavern, trading friendly smiles with the patrons there, swinging from the gallows. Kinsley is careful not to show how the image makes his heart freeze.

The Countess shrugs. “But these are tomorrow’s matters. Tonight, Kinsley, I have questions.”

Kinsley drinks the aromatic wine and clears his throat. “Questions?”

He braces himself for the inevitable queries about where he went… and what he’d been doing. But what comes next is a shock - 

“Yes. I wish to become familiar with you.”

Her words catch him off guard. He didn’t expect her to have any interest into who he was, only in his progress in solving the Count’s murder. The surprise is written in his eyes, and the Countess smiles warmly. 

“Let us be strangers no longer. May tonight be the beginning of a valuable friendship.”

She starts, at first, with simple questions. How he enjoyed the town, how is typical day went, his favorite things to eat and such. In turn, he asks her questions, and learn that her favorite food is spiced swordfish.

“In Prakra, spiced swordfish is a summer dish. I would hardly suffer a warm night without it.”

Kinsley had thought that it was only a rumor, that the Countess had grown up in Prakra, a vast land in the North. Though, it would make sense - Vesuvia is a centerpoint for many different people across many different countries, as it is a major import for goods. 

“The kitchen does try to humor my requests, but alas, they can never seem to spice it quite right.” 

“Do you ever miss living there?”

The Countess looks thoughtfully down into her glass, elegant fingers curled delicately around its stem. “Perhaps. I don’t think I would ever return to Prakra, but there are things I miss about my home.” She smiles sadly, almost wistful. “Often when I was feeling morose, I would take a walk down to the white beaches of my homeland. Observing the opalescent waves crash over the sands would soothe my worried soul.”

The bittersweet expression on her face as she speaks of her homeland makes her look years younger. Kinsley glances to the side and notices that the servants are listening as they work, watching the Countess and I with wondering eyes.

She takes a breath and shakes her head, wiping the expression from her face. “Well, if we are to reminisce, perhaps we should do so somewhere more private. Would you care to join me on the veranda for a nightcap?” She stands up looks at him expectantly, the soft smile tugging at her lips again as she holds a hand out to him. “Just the two of us.”

Kinsley takes her hand warily, but she grips it warmly and firmly, a pleased look blooming on her face as they head out to the veranda.

A cool night breeze greets them, the star-filled sky is bright and vast overhead. No servants follow them; it’s only Kinsley, Nadia, and the brilliant stars resting over them.

“Have a seat.” He settles down into a plush chair at her order, shifting a little to get comfortable. She picks up a crystal decanter filled with pale liquid and pours them both a glass. “Elderflower cordial,” she clarifies, and sits down, “one of my favorites.”

Kinsley nods, holding his glass but not drinking yet. He’s already feeling a little light-headed from the amount of alcohol he had that night. There’s a reason he’s not a big drinker, after all. 

Silence stretches between words, not quite settling to either person. Then Nadia turns her gaze from the garden to Kinsley, and gives him another warm smile. 

“You are… quite different from how I imagined you. I will admit, I find your presence to be quite intriguing.”

Somehow, from her words, the Countess seems to make Kinsley feel at ease and nervous at the same time. In town… there are whispers that Countess Nadia is a tyrant. But the woman in front of him seems genuine, kind, and… a little lonely.

She swishes the liquid around in her glass and looks back out to the garden. “Tell me, Kinsley… why did you come to the Palace? Why agree to help me?”

He hesitates with his answer, thinking. “It felt right,” he concludes, almost telling himself that. But it’s not quite the correct words to put into how he had felt. 

“It felt… right?” She gives him an odd look. “I see. So you were following your intuition… how nostalgic.” She brings a hand to her chest and sighs inaudibly. “The heart can be quite a valuable tool… provided one listens to it.” The warm smile that her lips grow into floods into her eyes, and she looks back at Kinsley. “I wonder what else your heart has said about me, Kinsley. Perhaps we can discuss it in more detail later…”

She stands, and Kinsley stands with her. “Do you have any more questions for me, Kinsley? Know that you are free to speak in my presence.”

He  _ does  _ have a lot of questions, but if he were to ask them all they would probably never leave the veranda. For now, he settles with “Why me?”

It’s hard not to wonder what made the Countess come to his door. She had mentioned a dream… but she’s already put so much faith in him from it.

Nadia’s eyes narrow. “A prudent question, Kinsley. You’re wise to wonder at my motives. When I came to your door, I was looking for an answer. I thought you might be it. If I’d arrived that night and found you wanting, I would not have invited you here. But there is something about you… I believe you are worth the risk.” She drains the rest of her cordial glass. “Were you frightened to see me, I wonder? You certainly seemed startled,” she says, teasing. She shakes her head and releases a breathy laugh. “But you have nothing to fear, I assure you. I have no patience for the swindlers who prowl the market, preying on weak and weary souls. But what I feel from you… is different. It’s intriguing. And promising.”

She reaches out, taking one of Kinsley’s hands and examining it carefully. She runs her fingers over the lines of his palm, and then looks back up, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “I do not think you will disappoint me.” Nadia pauses, and then slowly brings his hand to her lips, brushing a feather light kiss against it. “It seems you have had a long day. I won’t keep you any longer.”

Just as Kinsley turns away to retire to his quarters, the Countess speaks up again. “Thank you, for coming to the Palace. My dreams did not lead me astray.” Then she smiles and picks up a small silver bell, its handle carved into the shape of a swan’s neck, and rings it. The door to the veranda immediately opens as Portia bustles in.

“You rang, milady?”

“I did. Please show Kinsley to the guest rooms.”

Portia nods respectfully. “Of course, milady.”

As Kinsley turns away, he thinks he caught a fleeting glance of Nadia winking at him as he leaves, but it could be just a trick of the light.

The walk back to the guest quarters is less eventful tonight. The pair of dogs, Mercedes and Melchior, are nowhere to be seen. Their footsteps echo in the empty halls. Portia walks cheerfully beside him, almost skipping. “Things are a lot more interesting around here, since you showed up. And all the rumors floating around, my goodness! You’d think we had nothing to do but chat!”

Kinsley chuckles. “Do you hear a lot of rumors?”

Portia winks. “It’s my job to know who and what’s happening around here, after all.”

It seems servants came during the day to tidy up his room. They’ve placed a fresh pitcher of water on the desk. Incense burns by the window, filling the room with hazy swirls of wood and spice. The bedcovers were cleaned and made. 

Kinsley drops his bag at the foot of his bed, and the scroll from Julian’s desk rolls out. 

Portia spots it. She looks as if she’s dying to ask questions, but they falter before they can escape her lips.

“You seem concerned,” Kinsley says, almost questioning.

“Concerned? Me?” Portia looks back to the scroll, then out the window, and shrugs, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe. It’s just… the doctor… he can’t be the only suspect, right?” She leans closer to him, so she’s only in earshot between the two of them. “Between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies. I wasn’t working here when it happened. I’ve only heard rumors of what went on that night. Just…” she leans back, more at ease. “...keep your eyes peeled for anything strange, alright?”

She smiles, the worry clearing from her face like clouds uncovering the sun. A mischevious smile spreads across her face, but her voice is still low. “Y’know… if you’re not too tired yet, I could show you around the palace. There’s a lot of interesting things on the grounds. Maybe I could show you some secrets… if you think you can handle them.” She gives him another wink and tilts her head, waiting for an answer.

Though Kinsley is terribly curious, he’s all too cautious when he’s tired. “Is… that allowed?”

Portia laughs, bright and hearty. “Why wouldn’t it be allowed? You’re not a prisoner here, y’know! You look like you can keep a secret. I’m not too worried.” Just when Kinsley is about to respond, he’s interrupted by his own yawn, wide and long-lasting. A look of understanding flashes across Portia’s face and her smile dims down to a polite lilt in her lips. 

“I get it. You had a long day, and a lot’s on your mind already. Get some rest. Tomorrow milady wants you to join us in town to announce the masquerade.” She looks at him pointedly as she heads out the door. “I’ll be back at dawn, don’t sleep in!”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving Kinsley alone with his thoughts.


	5. The Hierophant

It’s the morning of the Masquerade announcement, and Kinsley is checking in on the shop. He needs to be back in the square for the announcement at noon, so he has plenty of time to get what he needs. Mainly supplies for the investigation. Reagents, herbs, maybe one of Asra’s spell books.

Hopping up the steps, he presses his palm to the door and releases the sealing spell when he spots a small leather pouch resting on the stoop.

_ Someone left this for me. _

He opens it cautiously, picking at the knot until it’s untied. The scent of myrrh is the strongest, but there is a mixture of other herbs as well. It’s a blend for protection. Kinsley casts a glance to either side of the street, but there’s no one in sight.

He rustles around in his satchel to fetch his keys. He unlocks the door. And just as he pushes it open, it swings further inward, and he nearly collapses into the last person he expected to see.

Doctor Devorak.

_ Julian,  _ he corrects his mind, but it still doesn’t make this any less shocking.

The sight of the fugitive freezes Kinsley to the spot, the pouch dropping to the ground from his nerveless fingers - he struggles to speak before the doctor beats him to it.

“...Well, hello there. Fancy seeing you here.” He laughs awkwardly, looking around and trying to ease the tension. “Ahem. Maybe not so surprising. I, ah, I was in the neighborhood, and you look, er, splendid! Marvelous, fantastic! I’ll, stop wringing my hands.” He shrinks in on himself sheepishly, embarrassed.

Kinsley thinks about calling for the guards for a moment, but he hesitates. This is now the second time the doctor had broken into his shop -  _ would they think he was harboring him? _

Instead, he fixes him with a narrow, withering gaze. “How do you keep getting in? I know I locked up after the first time. So you’ve either broken in, or…”

A cocky smile blooms on his face, confidence being regained. “...Or I’ve got a key?” He clicks his tongue and sighs tiredly, pulling a tiny key from one of his coat pockets. “Here. If it makes any difference, you can take it. I won’t be using it again. That’s…” he pauses, but nods assuringly. “That’s a promise.”

Julian waits patiently as Kinsley takes the key and compares it to his others, finding that it matches his own to the backroom. He looks back at the doctor with an even darker gaze. “Who gave this to you?”

At first the doctor seems surprised, then a dark flush appears on his cheeks, not for the first time since their interactions. “You don’t… ahem, well… well. Let’s just say I needed to make a couple house calls. After hours.” 

Kinsley’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. House calls to the shop? Was Asra ever ill? If he had been… would he have told him? Puzzled, Kinsley frowns, pocketing the key and giving the doctor a wary look.

“Oh, I hope you don’t think I’m a  _ thief,”  _ Julian says, putting a hand to his chest, affronted. “I’m a  _ lot  _ of things, but not that. But… you wouldn’t take my word for it, would you?”

The doctor shucks off his overcoat and starts to unbutton his waistcoat, to Kinsley’s surprise. 

“Search me.” He stretches his arms out, bearing his torso open to the magician. “If you find anything of yours, I’ll show myself to the stocks.” Kinsley hesitates. “Go ahead. Search until you’re satisfied.” He lowers his eye, presenting himself for inspection. 

Kinsley’s ears grow hot. “I’ll pass.”

“Oh?” Julian asks, surprised. “You sure? Well, all right… the offer stands. Besides, I won’t find what I’m looking for here. I know that much now.” The doctor makes quick work of his buttons, retrieves his overcoat and swings it over is shoulders again. He adjusts his eyepatch and runs a hand through his hair, momentarily solemn before grinning. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do, so I’ll just be getting out of your way…”

He takes a wide step, contorting his gangly form around Kinsley to pass. The broad grin only lasts for a second before shock takes over his features. The magician looks over his shoulder.

_ Portia. _

She must have come to find him, for the announcement, but she’s not paying him any attention. All of her focus, the suspended disbelief in her wide eyes, is on Julian. When she speaks, her voice is changed, all of her feeling poured into that single word.

“..Ilya?”

She stumbles, then runs up the steps. Kinsley backs into the wall as she throws herself at the doctor.  _ “Ilya!  _ Is it really you? Gods, let it be you…” Her shaking hands come to either side of the doctor’s face. His eyes start to shine, and he grasps her hands in his, laughing wetly.

“It’s me.  _ It’s me.” _

“You- you- you-” Portia closes her eyes tightly, tears streaking down her face, and she beats her firm fists into his chest. “You  _ bastard!  _ What are you doing here?! Out in the open? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” She reaches back up to tug at his ears, drawing out a shameful wince.

“You’ve grown up strong, Pasha,” Julian says. “I’m… I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”

“Oh, I’ll show you sorry! You unbelievable… Kinsley!” Portia suddenly notices the magician and releases Julian’s ears, seizing his collar to pull him off the stoop. 

“I- I… I’ll catch up with you later!” She hauls the floundering doctor down a nearby alley, leaving Kinsley alone to ponder. 

They seemed close. Like family.

He enters the shop, heading straight ot the backroom. Everything seems in order. He lingers over Asra’s possessions, his clothing and magical relics, comforted by his familiar, smoky scent. The backroom is always darker than the rest of the shop, and it offers a little peace before Kinsley remembers the announcement.

He collects the components he needs, but when he searches for the book, it’s nowhere to be found.  _ Did Asra take it with him?  _

Before he can search longer, the sun is already high in the sky. A distant clock tolls the hour, and he jumps to his feet. He abandons his search and locks up the shop, biting his lip in annoyance, and starts to the city square.

The square is densely packed, smaller folks and latecomers circling the perimeter to find a better view. A pleasant smell that Kinsley can’t quite seem to place is wafting over from nearby.

“Ahem,” Portia clears her throat loudly beside him. “Hear ye, hear ye! This is an announcement from your Countess Nadia Satrinava!” The crowd seems to hum with anticipation, even though they’ve quieted down. “On the anniversary of the passing of you beloved Count Lucio, the Countess will open the Palace gates.” 

People gasp aloud, and start to whisper among themselves. Some look excited, others have a terrified expression written on their faces, and there are a few to look annoyed, almost vengeful. “That’s right, folks! All are invited not to mourn, but to celebrate the spirit of the dearly departed Count!”

When she’s done speaking, the excitement of the majority of the crowd ripples through and they start their chatter up again. At its edge, Kinsley follows the familiar scent of myrrh. The leather pouch he had found at his doorstep comes to mind. 

At the end of the trail, he comes across a hulking figure, towering over everyone that surrounds him. Their eyes are shadowed, under a hood and a heavy brow. Though the excitement in the square is spreading, the figure looks more like a harbinger of despair.

“It’ll be a Masquerade like no other before!” Portia continues. “Spread the word, tell your friends! You won’t wanna miss that!” 

As the gathering erupts, the massive stranger moves down a side street, escaping with the scent of myrrh.

The stranger’s lumbering pace is easy to match. Kinsley slips away and catches up with them halfway down the street.

“Hey, where are you going?”

They freeze, the chains hanging of their body clinking as they turn towards him slowly. They look as if they dread to see him, their gaze shrouded, already dark. “Blindly to the slaughter. Just like the rest of you.”

“What do you mean?” Kinsley steps closer, but they step away. “Please, speak plainly.”

They close their eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I say. My words won’t last. They never do.” 

The stranger shuffles away, chains rattling behind them as Kinsley’s thoughts start to spiral.  _ If they had left the protection spell at the shop… did Asra send them? _

They look back, a hint of regret and a hint of something else in their gaze before they disappear into the misty shadows. Kinsley stands there, and suddenly turns back, confused.  _ Wasn’t there someone he was talking to just now? _

He makes his way back to the servants’ wagon, where Portia’s tossing flower petals and rice into the dancing crowd. She turns to him with a forced mask of surprise and excitement. “Kinsley, there you are! Would you look at this crowd?” She smiles shallowly. “No incidents back at the shop, I hope? Nothing out of the ordinary?” She has a shade of desperation about her as she pats her eyes pleadingly.

As Kinsley opens his mouth to answer, they’re jostled around as the wagon lurches back to life. Wild laughter follows them down the streets, ringing with the news of the Masquerade.

“Kinsley?”

It takes a moment for him to register Portia’s voice, and he turns to face her. 

“You’re going to be meeting with the courtiers when we reach the palace. Wanna get to know who they are, first?”

Kinsley’s startled - he almost forgot about his meeting with the Countess’ courtiers. “Oh! Yes, that would be… really helpful.”

Portia nods and clears her voice. “Well, there’s Procurator Volta, Praetor Vlastomil, Pontifex Vulgora, Quaestor Valdemar, and Consul Valerius.” She ticks the names off rapidly on her fingers, and Kinsley struggles to keep up, trying to commit the details to memory. He already probably looks lost, because she gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Really, Valerius is the most important. Milady minds him more than the rest. The others are a bit… eccentric… but I’m sure they’ll be kind to you.”

When they return to the palace, Portia quickly escorts him to a wing that smells strongly of a half a dozen perfumes. Kinsley’s almost overwhelmed by the scents, and knows when they’ve reached the parlor door from the music and cackling laughter inside.

“Go on, Kinsley,” Portia says when he hesitates. She smiles comfortingly. “These people can’t wait to meet you.”

Her words ground him. People…  _ people.  _ That’s all they are. He turns the doorknob and paces into the room.

The parlor is hazy, swimming with elegant plumes of smoke in different aromas. Softly lit figures lay about on pillowy cushions of the furniture. Countess Nadia sits behind a gleaming pipe organ, paying no mind to the idle chatter around her. But she looks up, almost expectant when Kinsley enters, her elegant fingers striking a victorious chord.

“Welcome, Kinsley.” She turns the pages of her music, nodding to him with an encouraging smile. Her attention shifts behind him. “Portia, please introduce our honored guest.”

Portia straightens her back and clears her throat. “Announcing Kinsley, friend of the Palace and apprentice to Asra the magician.”

As he’s standing, he tries to put faces to the list of names as the courtiers rise from their seats. A small, mousy woman steps forward and speaks first. “You’re Kinsley?” She asks in a shrill, squeaky voice. “Oh, oh, you’re so cute!” 

She jumps around and giggles with glee as the next person, a tall, thin, sickly-pale man lurks over towards them. “What a delightful surprise, we were all just talking about you!”

“Sit, sit!” A short, stout person with clawed armored hands beckons him closer. “No, no, not with them, with  _ me,  _ Kinsley!”

He’s surprised by their welcoming gestures, not expecting this much enthusiasm. Eager, manicured hands draw him down onto the couches and into the fold of conversation. The Countess watches from where she plays the pipe organ, drawing contemplative notes.

“Tell me, Kinsley,” she says, “how was the announcement received?”

Praetor Vlastomil gestures wildy with a skeletal hand. “One can only imagine! Even we, the favorites of the Countess, had no idea!”

“Such a beautiful surprise from our dearest Countess! A Masquerade!” Procurator Volta squeaks, shimmying in her seat energetically. 

Kinsley barely manages to hide his wince as Pontifex Vulgora explodes in a boisterous laugh.  _ “Hah!  _ And we don’t even have to do the work!”

He hears the Countess scoff quietly among the ruckus. “How lucky Kinsley would have to be, to get a word in with you all. Goodness.”

“Oh my worm - ahem, I mean word -” Vlastomil giggles nervously, covering up his Freudian slip haltingly. “How lucky he already is! To be taken in by the Countess, an unknown apprentice!”

The Countess arches an eyebrow at him, but says nothing. 

An unnerving hum voices itself into the open. “Risky, risky.” Quaestor Valdemar carefully steps out from their corner of the room and clicks their tongue. “So very unlike our thoughtful and meticulous Countess, hmm?”

Kinsley flinches. Valdemar’s voice is soft and chilly, with none of the enthusiasm of the others. They almost stalk into the center of the room and stiffly sits down in a chair, their predatory gaze on him the entire time they move.

The final courtier, who must be Consul Valerius, speaks up at last. “Perhaps the Countess might inform her  _ adoring  _ court… how exactly she found herself at the witch’s door that night.” He rounds the couch, looking down his nose at the magician. He spreads his arms, turning to address the whole room. “Or perhaps the witch might tell us himself.”

Kinsley grits his teeth, vexed by the consul. “Perhaps I will.”

Nadia’s attention drifts back to the pipe organ as the courtiers swoop down upon him. They seem ravenous for details of their fateful meeting the other night.

“Go on, tell us everything!”

“We’ve heard only the  _ gossippe.  _ Did the Countess truly come to you in the dead of night, stumbling barefoot, tearing through the streets?” 

Eager eyes watch his every move. Kinsley glances at the Countess, who glances back at him, testing.

“No, she just… knocked on the door.” A smile grows on her face from his dubious tone. Volta pushes herself to Kinsley.

“Please, my poor Countess, I must know if she was weeping?”

He blinks. “She wasn’t. But the hour was late, and the Countess was most insistent…” His new companions gather closer to him as he spins the tale. Enraptured, they cling to every word and nod vigorously to keep him going when he pauses. Valerius shows no interest, even yawning a few times. Valdemar sits as still as a statue - Kinsley isn’t sure they even blink.

When his recollection is complete, the Countess ends her practice with an impressive trill. “If you all wanted so badly to know how that night transpired, you might have simply asked. My headaches had grown worse, and I was having some trouble sleeping-”

“As you have been for some time, Countess!” Volta interrupts.

Nadia sends a deathly glare in her direction, and she withers back into her seat. “Yes, Procurator. On that night I woke haunted by the spectre of a dream, no escape for my mind. Indeed, I was… seeking someone, anyone who may be of help to me. It was I who was lucky, to come across the one I needed so soon.” She fixes Kinsley with her fond glimmering red gaze. “A benevolent universe brought us together, did it not, Kinsley?”

The courtiers shift, studying him with a new intensity. He’s about to reply when the moment is broken by an airy sigh.

Consul Valerius peers down at Kinsley through his wine glass. “Countess, it pains us to hear that you felt you must look elsewhere for a sympathetic ear. Should you deem us worthy of your trust, we are as open books to you!”

He throws his arms wide with a flourish, successfully knocking over a pitcher of fragrant wine over the front of Kinsley’s outfit. He jumps in his seat, from both the shock of the change in temperature and the sound of the pitcher shattering to the floor. A collective gasp sweeps through the room as the livid liquid seeps into his skin and clothes.

The Countess rises from the organ, her expression cold and murderous. As she approaches the consul, Valerius shrugs nonchalantly and stares dully at her. “How clumsy of me.” He gestures to Kinsley offhandedly and sneers. “Surely you know some hocus pocus to remedy this dilemma?”

_ “Enough,  _ Valerius. You have exhausted my patience for tonight.” Nadia sweeps over to where Kinsley is sitting and helps him stand. “All of you,  _ out.” _

Tiptoeing around his splattered form, the courtiers file sheepishly out the door. Valdemar watches him as they creep around the corner and out of sight, and Kinsley shivers unintentionally. 

He remains with the Countess, her hands resting lightly on his shoulder. “I apologize, Kinsley. We must rid you of these ruined clothes, of course...” She grimaces. “Tsk. Such pettiness. But I have taken enough liberties with your wardrobe. So please, do not hesitate. Tell me what you would like. And, Kinsley,” her generous gaze eyes him with assuredness. “Spare no expense.”

Portia stands at the ready as the Countess folds her hands, awaiting his request. It seems as if Nadia wants him to ask for riches. Absentmindedly, he wonders if she likes showering people in gifts.

Kinsley smiles sheepishly. “No, thank you. I don’t need anything special, really..”

“Ah, I thought you might say that,” Portia says. The Countess nods respectfully to him.

“As humble as ever. Very well. Your comfort here is of great importance to me.” She walks back to the organ and shuffles her sheet music around into the right order. “Portia will escort you to your chambers. You will be bathed, and your own garments returned. Though, Kinsley… you are my guest of honor. You could be more selfish, if you like.”

The cooing tones of the organ echo down the halls as Portia leads Kinsley back to the guest wing. When he’s bathed and returned to his room, a parcel is waiting for him by the window. Attached to it is a tightly spiraled note, addressed to him, from the Countess.

_ A gift for my dear guest, this emerald which seemed to call your name. Wear it in good health. And, Kinsley - you may call me Nadia. _

He opens the parcel and tosses aside the wrapping, letting the chain slip through his fingers. He holds the jewel hooked to it in his hand, and in a gradual wave, he starts to recognize its energy. He knows Asra’s magic too well to be mistaken, radiating from the jewel in gentle, soothing ripples. 

He had been able to track down Julian with  _ his  _ belongings - could he possibly find Asra with this? Just the thought swells his heart with almost painful hope.

He lies awake in his bed until the halls are quiet, midnight, perhaps, before he sneaks out of his room. With the emerald hanging from his neck, he’s immediately enveloped in a dreamy calm. The thought of hearing Asra’s voice,  _ seeing  _ him again pushes him along.

He wanders through the empty halls and out onto the veranda. Below are the gardens, shady and lush. From up high, he can see that the middle forms a maze of greenery. Silently, he descends to the garden path, shrouded in a warm summer breeze. As he follows where the emerald is taking him, the musical sound of falling water grows louder and louder.

There’s a fountain in the center of the garden. Around it is a wide gazing pool, and overhead is a rich old willow tree. Kinsley notices something hanging from the tree, and when he takes a closer look, he realizes…

_ It’s Faust. _

He calls out to her, and she flicks her tongue at him, hovering over the gazing pool.

_ “Didn’t you go with Asra?”  _ He hisses. “What are you  _ doing  _ here?”

Her weight drops eagerly onto his shoulders, her sleek body giving him a gentle squeeze. Had she been waiting for him? Did she know he was looking for Asra?

He takes a seat on the edge of the pool, and leans over to peer into the reflective surface. Faust takes immediate interest in the emerald, tongue flicking after it as Kinsley lifts the pendant from his neck. He closes his eyes, taking a deep even breath, and holds the jewel over the water.

And drops it. 

Light catches every glimmering, green face as it sinks to the bottom of the pool. The water starts to change, colors blooming, shapes unfolding, morphing into an image. The longer he concentrates on the shapes in the water, the clearer they become. Before he knows it, his own reflection is fading and giving way to -

_ Asra.  _

Kinsley sees him, drawing water to his face and drinking deeply. Each drop that trickles from his hands sends ripples through his image as it strikes the surface. Kinsley can only gape silently at seeing his mentor, afraid that any sound would break the spell. 

Then Asra shakes out his hair, blinking water from his eyes as he looks straight down into the water - straight at him.

“...Kinsley? Can you hear me?”

He nods, barely able to believe it.  _ It really worked.  _ Asra looks just as surprised as he is, but he leans forward. He’s close enough to where Kinsley can see water droplets in his eyelashes.

_ “Incredible,”  _ he says, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. He’s sitting cross-legged beside, what can only be assumed is a pond of some sort. The strange beast from before is lying beside him, resting its weighty head on his knee. 

“Ah, and Faust is with you. Looks like she found you all right. I wasn’t sure about leaving her, but after that reading you gave me… I thought I’d trust my intuition.”

Tall palms sway behind him against a glittering sea of stars. His hair catches light in every whorl. Faust dips her tail into the water, interrupting the image with tiny ripples.

The skin around Asra’s eyes wrinkle as he smiles at his familiar. “Faust, you’re looking lively. Being around Kinsley does that to you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m glad that she’s here,” Kinsley says. Faust looks very proud of herself.

Now that he’s over the shock of finding her, Kinsley’s beyond relieved to have Faust near . In the reflection, Asra looks pretty pleased with himself too. “And I’m glad you’re here, Asra.”

His face flushes a dark red, and the beast on his knee gives a rumbling snort. “I see a willow tree behind you… are you at the Palace?”

Kinsley nods, before launching into telling him everything that’s been happening since they parted ways. The more he seems to speak, the more Asra’s eyes glimmer with interest. When he finishes, Asra shakes his head.

“Unbelievable. The day I leave was the day you needed me most.” He looks forlornly at his apprentice and smiles. “And even then, you didn’t really need me at all. I’m glad Faust is with you, at least. If anything happens to either of you, I’ll know. I can live with that.”

Kinsley nods as well, and they sit in the near silence. The wind rustles the shrubbery of the garden serenely, a peace settling over them before the question pops into his mind.

“Where are you?”

Asra, startled from his quiet, looks across his shoulder at the sparkling, swirling galaxies overhead. His smile relaxes. “A place inside of me. Who would have thought you’d be able to reach me here? Your magic is inescapable. I think you’ll be able to follow me all the way.” Faust slides across Kinsley’s lap to take sniffing flicks at the water, and his mentor chuckles. “Faust is opening up to you.”

He goes silent for a moment. “It may be time for me to do the same,” he says quietly.

Kinsley nearly chokes. He must make a face, because it makes Asra laugh, high and unrestrained. Freely.

“No, really, it’s true. I want to start being more honest with you.” He sends a reassuring smile. “What’s on your mind? Ask me anything. All that  _ I  _ ask… is that you start being more honest with me, too.”

His gentle gaze washes over Kinsley, bringing him to a calm. But he does have a few burning questions.

“Who is Julian to you?”

Asra’s eyes widen in surprise. “Julian?” For a second, a confused aura passes over his eyes before he purses his lips. “Ah, yes… he goes by that name, too. I knew him by another.” There’s a tense few moments of silence between his words, chopped up fragments of thought. Kinsley can see he’s trying to find the right thing to say. He’s never really seen Asra like this - sure, he’s seen him annoyed, frustrated, but not like this. “He was a… friend, once. Then more. And then something else…”

Not for the first time, Kinsley wishes his mentor would be less vague. He can’t possibly get any answers from what he says alone, he always has to decipher what he’s feeling, his expressions, and even those are shadowed in mystery. 

“Who is Julian to me… who is he to anyone?” He stares off somewhere behind Kinsley, somewhere far off, and his words darken. “Whoever he needs to be, to get what he wants. To think he would come for me, after all that… let’s leave it at this; he’s a hack physician with a lot to learn. Until he does, nothing good will come of him.” With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Asra clears his heavy mood. He smiles. “Is there, perhaps, something else on your mind?” His eyes twinkle with wordless depth, and Kinsley feels them searching, searching him. 

“It’s getting late,” he says. “We - I should get some rest.”

“Is it?” Asra looks around. “Time is strange, here.” The image shimmers and ripples, and Asra smiles. “Go rest, Kinsley. I’ll see you again soon. I know you’ll find me.”

He reaches towards Kinsley, toward the water, and scatters the image until he’s gone. Faust looks down into the reflection, disappointed, curled on the edge of the pool as Kinsley rises to his feet. “Come, Faust. I know. We’ll see him again soon.”

Faust doesn’t reply. Instead, she gives the pool a longing look before reluctantly sliding up his arm. There’s a strange ache in his chest that she extinguishes, and he sighs heavily.

With a shake of his head, he gathers the serpent into his arms and heads back inside.

  
  



End file.
